"What we had is over, Dawn. You don't have to do this anymore. You're free to go."
I traced the glass separating us with my fingers, looking into his green eyes and whispered to the phone, "So you want to know why I'm still here?"
He just stare...
"They didn't agree on much. In fact, they didn't agree on anything. They fought all the time and challenged each other every day. But despite their differences, they had one important thing in common. They were crazy about each other." ― Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook
Blood was a strange color. One would expect it to be red. But it was much darker than just red. It had a rich tone to it, velvety and thick. I had once watched blood flowing out of the inside of my elbow, sliding into a thin container months ago. I had poured that blood on the floor of the study. A disheveled study, bloodstained carpet, a video footage and a misled reporter had been enough to confirm my abduction. I, myself, was surprised at all the lengths my parents went to for my safety.
The blond agent(with possible lip-injection) had been assigned to be one sort of handler. Wherever I went, she was to follow me. Emma Benson was a woman in her late twenties, blond, petite and awfully pale, a transfer from Chicago. No lip-injection. She wasn't a woman who shaved her legs regularly let alone be interested in injecting Juvederm into her lips. Now she sat on a leather upholstered chair on the corner of the cabin, her eyes at the doctor who stood over me, asking me about the wound on my palm.
"I accidentally placed my hand on pieces of glass," I said the truth. The more I was going to push the truths into the lie, the more the lie would seem believable.
The good old doctor let me go finally. "The test results will come back this evening."
"I'll send someone," I smiled, standing up on my feet. "Thank you, doctor."
With that, I walked out, followed by Agent Benson who wanted to know if I was going home.
"No, I have to drop by the Wildhorse Publishing House for an hour."
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Nothing hadn't changed since the last time I had been here. Karen, the red-haired receptionist, offered me a warm smile as I entered the lobby, Emma marching behind me in her black slacks and a shapeless blouse.
"I'm here to see Mr. Dale," I spoke my voice level, returning her smile, cutting right to the chase.
"Please take a seat." She reached for the telephone while I tapped my heel on the wooden floor, my eyes darting towards the empty elevator bank. I didn't have the strength to wait around at this moment.
Last night, I had accessed the pen drive. This had every single crime Bateman had committed stacked into a timeline. While Silas had been certain about Desmond's upcoming failure in his cell, he had known exactly how he had been framed. Adrian's contribution, under an idea of blackmail, was there on the screen. The mystery of Carly Dale's death would be finally solved, the fog would lift. Moreover, it would prove that my husband was innocent.
